


Living, Daley

by twoandfour



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3293834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoandfour/pseuds/twoandfour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daley Johnson is a thirty year old preacher’s kid. Every day of her life has belonged to her father, her mother, her youth group, and Jesus. Until the day she decides to make her life her own.</p><p>This is the story of a girl on a quest to claim her existence, and seeking out someone to claim her virginity, but by her rules.</p><p>About a girl discovering the power in politely telling everyone to “please fuck off”, but having trouble saying the “fuck” part.</p><p>Meeting Tom Hiddleston throws a wrench in her plans. But maybe, this time, the wrench in her plans won’t be all bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living, Daley

Daley Johnson took a deep breath, trying to quell the infestation of butterflies in her stomach, as she fished around in her closet for the brand-new pair of mahogany leather peep-toe heels she had hidden in its depths a month ago. They would be the last item to be shoved into her bulging suitcase, atop a mountain of hastily folded clothing, and a few new under-things that made her blush just thinking about them. 

No granny panties on this trip. Even she had had to admit, when trying them on at the shop, that her pear-shaped size 20 body looked at least a little enticing in quality satin and lace in the right size. 

As she sat on and zipped up the case on her bed and mentally ran over her carry-on checklist, she glanced at the freshly printed, empty passport lying on her pillow. The butterflies swarmed and tried to escape out of her throat. That little, unassuming blue booklet, so mundane for so many other people, represented something she’d never thought to even want until two years ago: a life of her very own. 

Her rules. Her choices. Her opinion as the only one that mattered. It had taken her twenty-eight years and a thousand incidental rabbit-trails to discover that not only did she require that, she actually deserved it.

She opened her black carry-on bag and began sliding items into it. Laptop (recently jailbroken from all restrictive software), cell phone (new, with a contract in her name), chargers, wallet (full of cash and a VISA card with her very own name stamped on it in gold lettering), makeup bag complete with a very bold new shade of berry-stain lip gloss in it, That One Book she’d skulked around the Barnes and Noble in the next town over trying to work up the courage to buy, the signed photo of Tom Hiddleston as Loki from the premier she’d gone to while she was supposed to be at a church singles’ retreat…

She could still see the genuine smile in his eyes and feel his warm, dry palm in hers. She took a moment to relish the memory. It was a moment too long.

“Daley, sugar, we’re home!” 

Her hazel eyes went wide. They were supposed to be working at the church. For at least another hour. Enough time for her to hop in the taxi she’d ordered and get to the airport. Enough time for her to write the fridge note she’d been guiltily planning for six months.

She was making a grab for the passport when she appeared in the doorway. 

“Day?” Her mother blinked in confusion, looking from her to the passport clutched in her hand to the suitcase on the bed and back to her. “What’s going on?”

She stared back, swallowing hard. She could do this. She’d prepared for this. But before the words could find their way out, a second set of footsteps echoed down the hall.

She squeezed her hazel eyes shut as her heart sank.

“Day, honey, Mrs. Talbot says she really needs you to email her your song selections for this Sunday’s service. She’s been wait-”

She felt rather than heard her father stop just behind her mother in the doorway. The silence rang between them.

“Daley Marie Johnson. What is this.” It was the same disappointed, reprimanding voice he’d used when he’d discovered her Harry Potter books tucked away in the trunk of her car. She was twenty-six when it had happened. 

It was that flash of memory more than anything that let her find her voice, again. In any case, she was going to try to be gentle. She opened her eyes, leveling them calmly on her parents.

“It’s what it looks like, Dad. Mom. I’m going away for a while.”

Her mom gasped and wrung her hands, glancing wildly back at her dad as if to spur him to action. He just gaped.

“You- You’re- What?” He sputtered.

Daley took a deep breath and reached for her new-found inner calm. Neat trick, that. She’d thank her (secret) therapist later.

“I’m going on a trip! I’m really excited, Dad. I’ve been planning this for two years, and the taxi will be here in, oh, about fifteen minutes. I’ve gotta finish packing. I promise I’ll come out and say goodbye, and I’ve printed out something for you so you’ll know where I can be reached.” She turned and tucked the passport into the front pocket of her carry-on and zipped it shut as if to punctuate her words with a full stop.

“Howard!” her mom’s voice quavered. She could hear her fluttering her hands like a Victorian consumptive and her heart hardened that much more. “Do something!”

“Shh, Martha,” he said, shouldering his way past her and into the room. Daley straightened and turned, looking him dead-on, chin jutted out in determination.

“Now, listen, sweetheart,” he started, hands splayed as if trying to gentle a spooked horse. “I don’t know what this is about, but-”

That was it. Daley exhaled, nostrils flared. “You don’t? You don’t know what this is about, Pastor Johnson?” 

He blinked, and Martha sucked in a horrified breath behind him.

She continued, bolstered. “Mom, Dad… I love you both. You know I do. But this is about the fact that I’m thirty years old and have never had the courage to leave home. It’s about the fact that the only social life I’ve ever had was at church because I wasn’t allowed to have friends who were different from me. It’s about-” 

She tried to stem the rise of tears but it was no use. “I’ve never had a date that wasn’t chaperoned. I’ve never read a book I loved that I didn’t have to hide. I’ve never had a job or taken a class that wasn’t approved. I’ve never- you raised to ‘be in the world but not of it’, but you know what? There is a world and I want to be of it.” 

“Day,” her mom gasped, as if she’d just given them the news that she had six months to live.

“Mom.” She sniffed and shook a tear from her chin, then slung the strap of her carry-on over her shoulder and grasped the handle of her suitcase, setting it upright on the floor.

With a watery smile, she dragged her luggage into the hallway, past her gaping parents who stepped aside, still in shock. She could feel the wheels of her case on every bump and crevice of the wood floor she’d known since she was in kindergarten. Halfway down the hall, she remembered.  
Stooping, she pulled a piece of copy paper out of her carry-on, then turned and held it out like an offering. Howard slowly reached to take it.

“Here’s where I’ll be, in case of an emergency. And don’t worry so much. I’ve been saving for this. Reading up on it. I’ll be okay, I promise. I just… I have to go.”

“Italy? Daley!” 

She hurried on through the house and out the front door. The taxi was waiting in the driveway.

“Daley, you don’t know how those men are, over there!”

She gasped out a laugh as the cabbie tried not to stare while he placed her bags in the trunk. She could only hope her mother was right. That was, after all, part of the plan.

“Daley, sweetheart!” Her dad’s broken voice nearly cracked her resolve, but she slid into the back seat, determined. “What will you become?”

She thought for one small second, then smiled as she felt the world open up into endless tributaries of possibility before her. 

“Me,” she answered, softly, and shut the door, just before the cab sped away into the afternoon sunlight.

___________

Too many harrowing hours and cups of coffee later, her plane finally landed at Heathrow. For the first few hours, she could do nothing but cry. The sweet woman who’d had the misfortune of sitting next to her had finally given up on listening to her disjointed story, and had jammed a pair of earbuds in with more force than was strictly necessary, and buried her head in the seat-pocket issue of Sky Mall. 

Daley almost felt better for it. At least she could sniffle in peace and try to move past that ingrained defensiveness that told her she’d better have a good explanation for her behavior. 

The last few hours were spent agonizing over whether or not to take out That One Book, then taking it out and hunching towards the window in an effort to hide the cover, then stammering and blushing profusely when the flight attendant commented brightly that it was one of his favorites, then flipping through the pages boldly, locating the comic-book-style illustrations and studying them with an insatiable hunger. 

The woman beside her had fallen asleep some time before, and upon waking with the plane’s descent, had side-eyed Daley and her book with utter bafflement. Daley decided she couldn’t really blame her, given the incongruity between her tale of a sheltered life and her chosen reading material.

Once off the plane, she got herself yet another cup of coffee (and wow, did it feel good to put her mother’s “a moment on the lips, forever on the hips” voice behind her while ordering something full of sugary syrup and whipped cream), and settled into a seat at the gait to wait out her layover. 

As much as she would’ve loved to explore Heathrow airport (and maybe stay in London a while), she only had forty-five minutes till the 727 that would carry her most of the way to her dream resort in the Italian Dolomites started boarding. 

Her book was burning a hole in her consciousness. Now that she’d started exploring it, she didn’t want to stop. But there was a difference between traumatizing a seat-mate with the cover of a sex manual and subjecting an entire airport gate to it. Biting her lower lip, she considered her options for passing the time, then remembered: she had meant to change clothes before leaving the house, but… Well. Hadn’t exactly remembered or had time, considering the emotional turmoil. 

A very tall man in a grey hoodie nearly collided with her just as she rose abruptly, pulling her carry-on behind her. She squeaked an apology and raced to the nearest bathroom. Who knew “real life” was so fraught with near-collisions? 

“Jes- F- Dang it,” Daley muttered, hating herself for not being able to choke out the words. Next time. She’d been practicing. The task directly in front of her was difficult enough.

She locked herself into the biggest stall she could find and stripped down to her new black bra and panties, shucking her old mom-jeans and Christian band t-shirt behind the toilet, and pulling three new pieces out of her carry-on: sleek grey leggings, a dark grey camisole with lace at the top, and a navy wrap dress that “camouflaged” (her mother’s favorite word) absolutely nothing. 

Determined not to overthink the whole thing, she packed everything away and stepped in front of the mirror to fluff out her mousy brown hair and slick on a bit of that berry-stain lip gloss. 

“Huh.” Not bad, she thought, even feeling a little exposed. After all, exposed was part of the plan. 

She wheeled her bag back to the gate with a bit more of a spring in her step just as she noticed the gate was mostly empty. Panicked, she glanced to her left. There were still a few people in line with their boarding passes out. She tucked in quickly behind them, cheeks burning. What was it her dad had always said about vanity?  
______________

She was the last person to board. Lovely. Every single eye seemed to be trained right on her behind as she turned partly sideways to slip down the center aisle, bulky black rolling bag trailing behind her. 

Focusing on her breathing, she managed to find her seat, and reached up above her head to pop the overhead compartment open. She reached back down with shaking fingers for her carry-on bag, having to bend just a little in the process. Which had the effect of putting her newly-out-there breasts directly in the face of her seat-mate, the man in the grey hoodie. 

“Sorry!” she gasped, mortified. How much worse this possibly get?

“Oh, hello,” the man in the grey hoodie answered, lightheartedly. He grinned and unfolded himself into the aisle. “Let me help,” he murmured, and swung her bag directly into the overhead compartment, snapping it shut behind him. Stepping aside as much as he could, he allowed her to slide past him and into the window seat. 

She sat down, tucking her navy dress underneath her, reminding herself to breathe. So much worse, she thought, in answer to her own mental question. Oh.. lord. Because she’d recognize that voice anywhere. More than that, she’d know that face anywhere. And now she was sat next to him on an airplane, and had just strong-armed her luggage away like a freaking god. 

At least he wouldn’t recognize her. She clutched at the thought. Out of the thousands of fans Tom Hiddleston had met, she had to be among the least memorable. Right? Of course. She allowed herself a quick, enervating breath, then reached to fasten her seatbelt.

“Wait…” She felt him settle in next to her, and risked a glance over, only to see his eyes narrow and scan her face, his eyes crinkling. “I remember you,” he said, nodding confidently. “Your name is- don’t tell me. It starts with a D. Sorry… Daily?”

Shit, her brain supplied.


End file.
